HE WAS A HARD-HEADED MAN, HE WAS BRUTALLY HANDSOME...

I’m stepping outside my normal blog box to share a political new blog with y’all but it is of interest to anyone following the continuing saga of EPD. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m pro-cop (with a few exceptions). I’m well aware that many are anti-cop (with a few exceptions). Back in the day, before the birth of Queen Monica, I dispatched for Santa Cruz PD. I sent officers out on too many scary calls to not be aware of the sucky and thankless job they have. Like many, I do think our tax dollars could be spent on something besides C.A.M.P. but until the law is changed, the cops are forced to enforce. Anyway.....

As a tax payer in the City of Eureka, I was more that a little ticked that a City Council meeting was called with very little notice to extend the contract of the Chief. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled with the rousting of tweakers and the raids on crack houses. I’m also well aware that often shit must be stirred up in order to properly clean a waste receptacle. However, when police personnel put their very jobs on the line to publicly comment on the low moral in the department owing to the new Chief, I am shocked that the Council didn't see fit to at least consider the allegations even IF the ground forces are doing a great job at clearing up the trash.

I was doubly pissed at hearing Councilman Mike Jones who had determined that the claims by employees were “baseless”. When people are willing to risk their jobs to speak publicly, doesn't it deserve at least a look-see? Even if the claims appear to be without merit, isn't it worth at least a cursory look? To listen to those officers and staff THEN respond with a FIVE YEAR CONTRACT renewal, is shocking to me. Um, City Council? You couldn’t wait maybe a day? A week? Maybe go with a one-year contract until this mess can be sorted out?

To clarify, I don't know IF there is a basis for these complaints. I'm not even sure I care. I'm fairly certain, though, that even if this were the planning department or public works management that displayed such inner drama, someone would at least CONSIDER the issue for a nano-second.

AVOIDING HOMEWORK

I should be working on a quiz for my Intro to Evidence class. I decided to get it done FIRST thereby earning any more entertaining activities over the weekend. Thus far, I’ve perused everyone’s blogs and found a few new ones. I’m so fascinated with people. Stories. Activities. I find that other people inspire me so I guess it’s not a bad thing to be a bit of a voyeur even if I am doing what I scold my kids for doing.
The weekend is off to a busy start. Yesterday was Mark’s birthday. Being a Friday, we did our regular dinner out, just Mark, Glo and I. His choice was Chapala, one of our favorites, with a promise not to have the Tumbleweeds sing Happy Birthday. He knew he could trust me because I hate being serenaded in public places. Glo, however, was not such a sure thing. SOMEone ratted her out last year and she got the Tumbleweed Happy Birthday. She knew it wasn’t me (for the aforementioned reason) but she suspected Dad….and his turn was up. But, we toasted him in appropriately reverent tones with plans for a family steak dinner on Sunday, complete with the presents and chocolate chip cheesecake.
Then, about 11:30 last night, we heard sirens. Not unusual since we’re just a block off J Street and Eureka Fire often heads up this way to 14^th. There seemed to be a lot of sirens so Mark got up to look out the window. “Holy Shit….something’s fully involved!” Spoken like a former volunteer firefighter. It looked to be just down the street so we woke the kids and started to head down there THEN we realized the puppy was freaking out. Vince WOOFS when he’s unsure of anyone or anything and he was woofing so….I stayed home with him and let Mark, Hope and Glo head up to the corner. Apparently the fire was contained in a carport in the alley behind the apartments on K and 14^th. Easily accessed by the firefighters. No obvious cause. Mark and the girls left once the fire was knocked down and the building’s attic was being checked for fire damage. Damn, I missed it.
I used to love to go to the fires in Nevada when Mark was on the volunteer fire department, camera in hand. Mostly neighborhood fires but I did hitch a ride in to a brush fire once in shorts and Birks, got scolded and rewarded by the District Chief with a set of brush turnouts that I carried in the car with boots, just in case.
So, back to work on my 1500 words for Professor Sokolow. I’m partially there and once I get my mind and heart into it, the words will flow. Hopefully this blog will help with the brain circulation. LISTENING TO: Brudda Iz (Israel Kamakawiwo'ole)

Put A Head on It

As the title of my blog indicates, I’m a rabid beachcomber. I love to scour the beach for shells and consider it a successful trip to the beach when I come home with a perfect specimen. Our north coast beaches are pretty disappointing when it comes to beach scrounging. I have found some nice intact shells but they’re few and far between. When I’m in the mood for combing the beach, I generally end up at King Salmon doing the “stoop” WAAAAAY down to see the teeny tiny shells I find there. I have bottles full of perfect shells, including sand dollars, the size of a pencil eraser. So small that hundreds fit into a vitamin bottle.
Unfortunately, King Salmon is NOT the beach to enjoy the big waves of an ocean storm. For that, you must go to the ocean side. With the weather report calling for 10-12 foot waves, I took the opportunity to head out to “power poles” on the North Spit after work on Friday. Since I can’t go on a walk without the dog, Vince and I headed to the beach. The sun was beginning to drop and the waves glowed but the best part for Vince was the foam. As the sets would gather strength, churning up the brine, enormous piles of foam would tumble out on to the sand. Then the wind would catch it and Vince would chase it. I remember playing the foam as a kid but I’m SURE I didn’t have as much fun as Vince did. Such a simple toy. And cheap entertainment for both of us.

KIDS + ALCOHOL +/– TOGAS = PARTAY!

I'm angry and feeling the need to vent. I found out that a boy we know had his 18^th birthday party last night. NO ADULTS in the vicinity because the parents had to go out of town and the son assured them he could be trusted....yeah right! They decided to trust said son with a few rules and not force them to have grandparents present. Needless to say, all rules were broken. There was alcohol, 25 kids and a slumber party (if you call young men and women sprawled in every room a slumber party...). I was a teen a helluva long time ago and I KNOW how even chicken-shit me would have handled that without an adult to supervise. What in the HELL were the parents thinking!? Do they not realize that 18 means ADULT in the real world?! Congratulations, you’re eighteen. You can now go to JAIL!

Here’s another question…. since these parents had no choice to be out of town so they really had no control over what was going on in their absence….Where did the parents of the guest kids think they were all night? Staying at Suzy’s? Did they call Suzy’s house – not her cell, duh -- to check? Who provided the alcohol? And the kids that had a curfew, what condition were they in when they left? What pisses me off and scares the crap outta me all at once is that my family may have been out there on the road with drunk kids leaving that party. Friends and family could have been killed by yet another car load full of kids from hell. Mark had driven to pick up Gloria. Gloria’s friends that have licenses were driving themselves home with minimal driving experience which means without the ability to avoid an accident that might happen to them. Monica was probably coming back to her place after a late night out. They were out on the road when drunk teenagers may have been on the road. I am SO angry.

So here’s the deal….were YOUR kids at a toga dance at school on Friday night? Where did they go afterwards? Where did they spend the night? Where are they now….Saturday morning and in what condition? Did you check their breath? I was a teenager once. If my kids are out late, they MUST come and kiss me good night. Warm and cuddly, perhaps, but I’m also checking breath and they know it. If your friends have high school age kids, please forward this blog to them. Somebody has to start asking the hard questions of their kids. Sixteen doesn’t mean, “Here’s the keys. Thank goodness I don’t have to drive you anymore”. For me, it was “Here’s the keys. Now I will worry more than when you were five and walking home from the bus stop alone.”

DON'T CALL ME SWEETIE

Am I the only one that hates to be called sweetie? I don’t mean grandma's “sweetie bring me my slippers”. Or the "hi sweetie" from a friend". I mean, the “sweetie” that comes with a condescending tone…there is an implied…”you moron” that follows. It drips with pity that you should be so unfortunate and …. simple”.

Several months back, I received a “sweetie” from someone who I believe to be an equal though her tone told me unmistakably she felt I was FAR below her station”. The “sweetie” told me that I just didn’t have the brains to figure this one out without her help.

Today, the “sweetie” came from a girl in a local shop. I went to buy supplies for a craft project. I chose not to go to Michael’s for this because the products they carry of this type have been poor quality. When I talked to this girl, I presumed I could get benefit of her knowledge of the products she sells. When I mentioned what I had been using, I got the first “oh sweetie…….” “What an utter and complete incompetent must I be to even THINK of using THAT” her tone said. We chatted a little more as she packaged up the items I bought - $20 worth that fit into a bag the size of my iPod. As I asked another question about another part of the process….again I get “oh sweetie.....” that just faded off. This is a girl the age of my daughter speaking to me, a customer, with such a demeaning, condescending tone. Not unkindly, mind you. Sweet and kind, like you might speak to a poor stupid animal. She could have easily said, “hmmm, I hadn’t thought of doing it THAT way…this is the way I do it….I’ve always had luck doing it this way”. I would have been thrilled to have a helpful suggestion from someone who knows what they are doing. But she didn't. And I left confident that my ignorance would be discussed among the employees at a later date.

The thing is, this is a locally owned shop and there are several others just like it. I chose this shop today but likely won’t do it again. I will go into another locally-owned similar businesses where I have been treated politely in the past and received help when I asked.

Here’s my suggestion. If you are a business-owner in Eureka and you have an employee that calls you “sweetie”, listen carefully to the tone. She may be saying it to you in a respectful tone but…does she use a different tone with customers? If so, you might ask her to stop. For the sake of your business.

PUMPKINS AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE

Pumpkins orange and smooth
Children search for the great one
Autumn fills my eyes

AKK! Pumpkin haiku. I was inspired ... then I bought a white one.

IF MONICA CAN DO IT.....

Except for soggy behind syndrome, I came out of my second (and third) kayaking experience relatively unscathed. And, yes, Monica finally got out on the bay. My oldest daughter was working a remote radio booth at a kayak demo day on Sunday. The stores that were doing the demos are good customers of the radio station and she was enjoying some good-natured ribbing from a coworker and the store owners. Monica does NOT do water in which the contents are in question. She doesn’t want to SEE what’s down there but she REALLY doesn’t want to NOT see them either. Anyway, they had a nice Hobie Mirage kayak with pedals and they convinced her to try it. And she DID! Yeah Monica. She was hell on pedals, scooting herself out beyond the Samoa bridge and back. Then they used her as a good example of .... "Seeee? Monica did it and if Monica can do it ANYBODY can do it."

I came down to the dock with some trepidation after a virgin voyage at the last Paddlefest. I took beginner lessons from HSU Center Activities and while it was really fun, it was also a little scary. I didn’t dress correctly (who knew "cotton kills") and it was a little chilly. I was nervous and afraid of embarrassing myself. It was a regular enclosed deck kayak so I had the “ingress and egress” issues one would expect but a basically positive experience. However, I was by no means relaxed on my second time out. In fact, the longer I had to wait (we’re talking mere minutes here but it feels like SO much more when you’re nervous), the more ambivalent I became. The Outdoor Store staff were great and put me into a Hobie Quest “sit on top” model as requested. The ingress was much easier than with the enclosed model. I grabbed the paddle and off I went towards the Samoa Bridge then west to Woodley Island. Got fairly close to a few egrets and had a lovely conversation with a seal. Came back and tried a second model, a Caper, just for comparison. I do enjoy the quiet and the ability to get into little still-water spots you can’t access on foot.

I was REALLY intrigued by the fact that Monica’s co worker had paddled in that morning by putting in at slough near his house in Myrtletown and coming in on the water. That’s TOO awesome. Guess this means the expense of the kayak and, of course, a roof rack and proper pants. I’ll need a “dry sak” for a camera because I can’t go ANYWHERE without a camera. Ooh boy….this could get pricey, huh?

BUY LOCAL = BUY FRESH

You call it summer….I call it Farmer’s Market season. Thank goodness for the availability of fresh picked, local produce. Although many people frequent the farmers markets for organic fruits and veggies, for me the draw is FRESH. Often, the fruits and vegetables are picked the same day they are sold at market and you couldn’t get much fresher than that unless you have a veggie patch of your own. Honestly, though, I’ve been a hit or miss visitor to the Saturday market in Arcata. My two sides pull at me – my healthy, cook-from-scratch side is thrilled with the options, especially when Japanese eggplant and lilac bell peppers arrive. However, my thrifty side winces at the cost of a $6 bag of wax beans I bought for a bean salad. You can blow $20 with no effort at all.

This year, that all changes. I’ve had an epiphany of sorts. I shop happily at Winco every week. I love their variety and just shopping there is an adventure. At certain points in the month, it CAN be overwhelming -- families with unruly kids in tow doing their month’s shopping -- and I’ve learned that if I shop with my iPod in my ears, the infernal squawking of the store intercom isn’t half as annoying. The prices on produce have always been reasonable but I’ve found the quality has become marginal of late. Bananas bought green ripen into inedible bruised fruit; the same with cantaloupes and nectarines. The last straw was two “clamshells” of strawberries purchased on Thursday night that were a mass of black fuzz by Saturday morning when I hoped to make a fruit salad. Those went to my hens along with two of the four “on the vine” tomatoes. When you factor in waste, the low prices are not so low.

I decided I would start hitting the farmer’s market more regularly to supplement my CSA farm share box I get each week from the College of the Redwoods farm. The produce there is a little more expensive but SO tasty. Fresh greens for salad along with lemon cucumbers. Little baskets of sweet cherry tomatoes in a variety of colors. None of it will go to waste. I wish I didn’t have to go all the way to Arcata for the big market but the one in Henderson Center is over before I get off work.

The upshot of this is a new word added to my vocabulary – locavore. It’s a word coined to identify those who choose to eat food grown or made in their area. eatlocalchallenge I’ve always supported local businesses -- the fact that our local breweries produce an awesome product makes THAT particular decision pretty easy and there’s something very cool about buying fish directly from the docks and the people that caught it. Soon I'll be picking fresh berries on the roadside to make jam. Choosing locally grown vegetables and fruit assure that my family is eating a food that was picked within days if not hours of sale. It wasn’t picked green somewhere before being shipped vast distances. I’m sure that the intension is that green pit-fruit and tomatoes will be tough enough to withstand the violent bouncing they will receive in transit but they still bruise and the damage isn’t seen until AFTER it ripens which is generally also AFTER I’ve paid good money for it. I've already stopped buying apples in the stores choosing, instead, to limit my apple purchases to local apples during apple season. That may mean a trip to the orchards of Wrigley, Clendenen or Arrington or maybe to Myrtle Avenue Market where I can count on them to have local apples but no longer to I buy autumn apples in the off-season only to be faced with a handful of mealy, flavorless, OLD apple.

My CSA farm share boxes have just started…greens and kohl crops mostly but a little basil thrown in to give me the promise of pesto season. Before long, the boxes will be overflowing with tomatoes and peppers, melons and squash. Maybe a few too many beets for my taste though but, thanks to included recipes, I’ve learned that borscht is not so bad. My fingers are crossed for figs that we were tantalized with two years ago. So here’s to a season of flavor and getting my moneys worth.